


I Don't Need to Pretend

by mggislife2789



Category: Criminal Minds, Spencer Reid - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 11:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7800652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mggislife2789/pseuds/mggislife2789
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer and the reader go undercover at a club to get information on a suspect. Sexual tension ensues.</p><p>Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or their original stories. This is only for fun. It's where my brain goes after the credits roll. No copyright intended. Better safe than sorry. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Need to Pretend

You were dreading this. The team was on a case in Florida. Ritzy town. Murder case. And Hotch needed at least two people in the The Gallery Nightclub, which was the last place the victim had been seen. You all suspected that the unsub would frequent the area’s nightclubs often in order to search for victims and that required at least two agents to go undercover to gather information. After throwing a slight tantrum to Hotch and Rossi, they convinced you to be one of the undercover agents. You were not the club type, and worse yet, Spencer was the other agent. He didn’t want to do this either, but probably not for the same reasons you were uneasy. He hated clubbing even more than you did, didn’t drink a lot, and wasn’t really comfortable dancing, but you and he were the youngest on the team, so Hotch felt it was best for you to be agents at The Gallery.

You didn’t want to do this because you would have to be alone with Spence…in a sexy nightclub… on Latin night. 

Fuck. 

In the dark. Drinking, at least enough to keep up your covers, and dancing.

Closely. 

To Reid. 

Ugh. 

This was everything you’d fantasized about, but you couldn’t risk getting involved with someone on the team, let alone your best friend. It wouldn’t work. Would it? Plus, he was just a month out of a bad breakup. He had no interest.

But you had to do your jobs - if this is what it took, then you figured you’d just have to work through it. As you stepped up to the entrance, you grabbed Spence’s hand and entwined his fingers in yours. God, it felt so right. 

FUCK. 

You could tell he wanted to pull away. Hopes dashed. This was gonna be difficult. He was wearing a dark purple, buttoned shirt and a pair of well-fitted jeans. He looked divine. You thought you felt him looking at you as you approached the bar. You were dressed much differently than normal, wearing a plunging, red, halter top dress and strappy black heels, as opposed to your normal pant suits, camisoles, and comfortable, totally unsexy shoes.

He came up behind you and signaled the bartender, “Can I get a Yuengling on tap for me, and a Long Island Iced Tea for her?” He sounded so much more confident than he normally did.

As the bartender walked away to get your drinks, you laughed, “You ordered for me?” 

“Sorry, Y/N.” He whispered in your ear, “I thought it fit my cover.” He sounded really nervous now.

“No problem, Spence,” you responded, as you grazed his arm, assuring him there wasn’t a problem. “I’m surprised you knew what I wanted.” The bartender returned with your drinks and you both decided to observe the patrons from the bar first, trying to gather as much information as you could. You slowly sipped at your drinks and you leaned into him, attempting to look like a couple. You realized it came pretty easily for you and wondered how he was feeling. 

Once or twice you turned around to ask him if he wanted to move out to the dance floor. You’d both finished your drinks, and if you wanted to keep your wits about you, another drink was out of the question. He kept putting it off though. You knew he hated dancing, but damn, you had a job to do. Nearly 30 minutes after finishing your drinks, which took about 30 minutes to drink, you still hadn’t made your way to the floor. The only thing he mentioned was a man or two that could’ve fit the unsub’s profile. You needed to start observing from another angle. You grabbed his hand and said, “Let’s go, Spencer,” but he stood as still as a board.

Exasperated, you turned to whisper in his ear, “Can you at least pretend like you’re into me for two minutes so we can do our damn jobs?” 

You felt fire in your eyes. This was hard enough as it was. You turned quickly to pull him to the middle of the floor and this time you felt him tug you back. You looked up at him in disbelief and saw the anger in his eyes, but somehow it was different than yours.

“I don’t have to pretend, Y/N,” he said hotly. “Don’t you realize that that’s why I didn’t want to do this?” You swallowed hard.

You hadn’t, really. You never thought in a million years that he reciprocated your feelings. You could talk about this more later, but right now you had a job to do. Some of the tension released from his body as you pulled him towards one of the possible suspects, starting to dance next to him. Spence had one hand at your waist and the other still entwined with yours. It looked more like formal dancing than club dancing. You needed to blend in. Turning around so that your back was to his chest, you smirked at him. “I know you’re going to absolutely hate this.”

As you grabbed both of his hands and placed them around your waist, you heard a frustrated grunt escape his lips. “You have to be kidding me, Y/N.” You reached one of your hands back to tangle them in his hair, swaying back and forth to the beat. For another 20 minutes or so, you took in your surroundings, zeroing in on a few possible suspects.

“Y/N..,” he complained, as you backed your ass into his growing bulge. “It’s getting extremely difficult for me to do my job.”

You threw your head back and laughed, “Awww. Poor baby.”

He turned you around to face him again; this time with his hands in your hair and your hands under his shirt. You desperately wanted to get out of here. You stood up on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Do you think we have enough intel for the team?” you questioned hopefully. “Maybe we can get out of here.”

Quietly, you recounted the information you gathered to each other. If the unsub did frequent this club, you figured you had enough information to work off of.

“So, you think we might be able to get the hell out of here?” you asked, raking your nails lightly against the skin at his waist.

With a distressed moan, he turned your body around, sauntered in front of you, and dragged you behind him through the crowd. As you reached the door, he turned to you and emphasized, “I told you I didn’t have to pretend, Y/N.”


End file.
